


the eyes of history

by Skyson



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Agnes POV, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyson/pseuds/Skyson
Summary: The name Reddington has meant a lot over the last few decades. It's a name that will continue to live on, good or bad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching a lot of documentaries one day, and this happened.

She looked up from her paperwork at the light knocking against her office door. Her partner stood there, and she gestured him inside.

"What's up?" She asked, setting her pen down.

"I wondered if you'd sent in the file for the case yet." He held a folder aloft in his hands, a sheepish expression on his face. "Would you mind handing mine in as well? I'd rather not be late again. I already owe Charlie big time for completely missing our last date..."

"Josh," She laughed and shook her head at him, and held out her hand in request for his file. "We were working on a very important operation. It's your _job_ , and he knows that."

Josh grinned and shrugged after passing her the file, and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. He was one of the few guys she knew that still wore suspenders, and they were in full view now, as well as his loosened tie; his exhaustion level was always evident by the state of his clothes.

"He does. He's great. But I still feel like I owe him, even if he'll never say so."

"It still astounds me that someone as good-looking as you can be such a kind human being," She teased her friend, and he rolled his eyes as he pulled a hand from his pocket and threw something at her.

She caught it first, turning her hand and opening her palm flat to reveal the quarter, before smirking at him and throwing it back. He didn't catch it, but he did twist to the side to dodge it. It clattered somewhere against the far corner of the room.

"Can I ask you a question?" Josh wondered, his mind clearly wandering by the tone of his voice. His mind often wandered - she was the more level-headed, by-the-book agent of the two.

"Shoot." She replied, picking up her pen again and glancing down at the report in front of her. It wasn't quite finished yet. He was also always faster about finishing his desk work than she - he'd always been that way.

"What's with the clock?" He tilted his head toward the bookcase on the right side of the room. "There are all sorts of weird rumors about it. I mean, you've been lugging it around even since living in our crappy dorms in basic." She furrowed her brow at him, silently asking him why it even mattered. "I figured, since we've been friends and partners for a good while now, I have a decent likelihood of not getting killed for asking about it."

"Killed?" She repeated. "What sort of rumors have you been hearing?" He made a face, and she pursed her lips, continuing in a very dry tone of voice, "It was given to me by a multimillionaire drug dealer during one of my first busts. He used to hide cocaine in it."

Josh blinked at her, and while from his statement before, he knew that she'd had the clock for a while, it still appeared that he wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe her now.

"Geez, Josh," She laughed softly, "I've had it since I was a baby." She looked toward the old wooden contraption, where it was carefully perched upon the top shelf of the bookcase. Even with books and folders practically taking over the rest of the office, the area around the clock was carefully clean and clear of junk or anything that might block the view of it. "It's the only thing I have left of my parents."

"Your parents?" Josh frowned. "I thought... I mean... I'm sorry, I just figured, since you're so young - I didn't know - "

"Well it's not like I go around telling people 'Hey, my parents are dead'." She told him wryly, and he swallowed down his apology, though the expression was still written clearly all over his face. He also looked curious. "It's alright, Josh. It was a long time ago." She assured him softly.

"Were they... I mean... were they old?"

"Not really," She hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I mean my mother wasn't. She was in her mid-thirties when she had me. Dad was..." She laughed a little. "I actually have no idea. I'm not even sure how old he was when they died."

"So they didn't die of old age?" Josh asked carefully, innocently curious but cognizant about how she might feel about the topic. She shook her head, not bothered by his questions. She'd long ago accepted the circumstances, and while she missed them, she had been quite young when it had happened. She'd been lucky enough to have an amazing adoptive family and she had been well cared for.

"They didn't." She answered simply. He raised his eyebrow, and slowly sat down in one of the chairs across from her desk, sensing a story. "Don't you have a date?" She teased.

"If I left now I'd actually be early by more than an hour. Even accounting for traffic, I've got some time." He admitted.

"Well," she mused, "I suppose I could tell you the basics. But it's certainly a longer story than what you or I have time for tonight, so you'll have to deal with not knowing much immediately."

"What, were your parents mob bosses or something?" Josh joked, laughing, and she smiled too, though the look in her eyes made him quiet. "Were they?"


	2. Chapter 2

"C'mon Aggie, don't tell me you were too young to remember! I was four years old and understood at least in very broad terms what it was my parents did." Josh protested. "You just told me you were _ten_  when they passed away!"

"Look, I can't just... _tell you_  what they did and expect you to understand. You need some history first, okay? Because they were good people - some of the best people - regardless of what others labeled them as."

"Okay," Josh nodded earnestly, "they were good people. I'll keep that in mind."

"My mom was an FBI agent, like us. Like me, actually. A profiler."

"That must be where you got it from." He smiled, and she nodded.

"She was even better than I am, though. At least from what I understand." Agnes hesitated for the first time since the conversation started. "My dad... he was more... a freelancer."

"More of a stay-at-home dad while your mom worked?" Josh followed.

"...Yeah. Sort of..." She glanced away, and he asked,

"Was he good with his hands?"

"What?" She didn't follow, and he gestured toward the clock.

"I'm pretty sure that's handmade, right? It doesn't look quite old enough to be generational, so I figured it was new when it was given to you. And since cuckoo clocks aren't too commonly made anymore, I assumed..." He trailed off, and she nodded in understanding.

"Yes. He made it for me. The wood carving, everything down to connecting all the gears and knobs and switches. It still works perfectly, even to this day. All I have to do is remember to rewind it every now and then."

"That's amazing." Josh was clearly impressed, though Agnes was fairly sure he didn't know much about handmade clocks. "So how did they meet? Did your mom bust him doing some mildly illegal freelance work?" Josh grinned.

"He... occasionally... assisted her team. He was very good at pretending to be someone he wasn't." Agnes told him carefully, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe he should have been an actor."

"He was also very good at... keeping himself safe." Her half-unsure tone made Josh's eyebrows lower once more.

"Keeping himself safe? What does that mean?"

"...Physically?"

"Are you saying, he was good at killing people? Your dad was good at killing people?" Josh sounded disbelieving, but not outraged.

"Bad people. The worst kinds of people. The kind that probably don't deserve to be called 'human'." Agnes informed him, and he nodded slowly, processing.

"So your dad was like, an assassin, and your mom was an FBI profiler? Did she know he was an assassin when she first met him? Did she profile him?" He sounded fascinated again, the dubiousness about her father tucked to the wayside for the time being.

"She, um, well not exactly." Agnes hedged. Honestly, _most_  of her knowledge had come from her adoptive parents, once she'd announced at 22 that she was going to join the FBI like they had done. Then they started talking with her about her real parents, about what they  _really_  did for a living. About how they died.

Her only personal memories about them were simply full of adoration, companionship, love... and an underlying sort of vexation that as a ten year old she hadn't understood, but later... after learning everything about them, and after going through her own different relationships, she could understand it quite clearly. They had been deeply in love with one another, body and soul, and in that way they could also be one another's worst annoyance. It just made her all the more fond of them, really. They weren't perfect or idyllic (especially knowing their history) but they were _real_.

Josh opened his mouth to ask another question, but then his phone rang. Tugging it free from his pocket, and looked at the screen and got to his feet.

"It's Charlie,"

"Go ahead," she waved him out of the room, "tell him I said hello. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Hey, we're not nearly done with this conversation, right?" He checked, tapping the screen of his phone and putting it to his ear, but waiting by her door for her answer.

"Of course not. Need I tell you that you keep this to yourself? Don't even tell Charlie, please. I know you can barely even keep surprise birthday parties from him but _please_  - this is deeply personal for me." She requested, though she gave him a hard stare. She wasn't really asking.

"Absolutely." Josh replied seriously, before saying into the phone, "Hey, love, I'm saying goodbye to Aggie now. I am, I swear. See," He looked back toward her, "Bye, Agnes!" He called louder than necessary.

"Goodbye, Josh!" She returned loud enough for Charlie to hear through the phone, and whatever his comment was it must've been good, because Josh grinned like a shark. He wiggled his fingers in a goodbye toward Agnes, and walked away.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, no longer focused on the paperwork in front of her. It was something she could finish in the morning, if she came in an hour before call.

Just because she was content with the fact that her birth parents were dead, didn't mean that she wasn't constantly thinking of them. Talking about them like this was more difficult than ever before, though. Her adoptive parents had told her things that were frankly unbelievable, if it weren't for the _books_  that had been written about them.

And Agnes knew that Josh would've found out eventually. She was honestly surprised he hadn't already. Better it happen now, on her own terms, where she could hopefully keep his emotional outbursts to a minimum.

The clock chimed and cuckooed, signaling that it was time for her to head home, and she smiled softly at it.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, arriving an hour early as she had planned, Agnes was surprised to see that not five minutes after she'd settled behind her desk, Josh barreled into her office. He shut the door behind him and strode quickly toward her desk, completely ignoring the box of doughnuts she'd set out for the team.

"You didn't tell me that your father was _him_ ," Josh hissed, wide-eyed as he stared down at her. She blinked up at him, the appearance of calm though she was starting to feel a little nervous. This was one of the main parts she was worried about, as far as his reception of it. Josh was pretty much her closest friend.

"Of course I didn't,"

"Your father wasn't just an _assassin_ ," he scolded, sitting down heavily in the chair, "he was the fucking _Concierge of Crime_."

"How did you figure it out?" She asked, keeping her own tone calm and collected in an effort to bring him down a notch.

"After my date last night, something kept nagging at me, so I started digging around on the internet. With the age math and the fact your mother was a profiler, there were a couple possibilities, but you've been so careful about how you give me the information. Not to mention the fact that literally _no one_  has any knowledge about your birth parents. So that left him and - " He stopped, and slapped his hand heavily on top of her desk.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Agnes wondered, raising her eyebrow.

"Well, not really. Dinner ran late, what with the dessert course and all, and then the sex, and even though Charlie is usually like, _the best_  post-coitus cuddler,"

"Thanks for that." Agnes wrinkled her nose at him. She loved them both, but she didn't need details about anyone's sex life.

"He fell asleep and I pulled out my laptop." Josh seemed to process the information he'd discovered all over again and his eyes widened again as he leaned forward. "Your parents are Raymond Reddington and Elizabeth Keen. Fucking hell!"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not used to someone else having this information. Even if it was her best friend.

"No wonder you don't want anyone to know. I mean, they're _still_  on the wall with the rest of the Most Wanted."

"I _know_." Agnes raised her eyebrow at him. They had to take an entire course during training that dealt just with those two, about how they worked, what they had done, the extent of their crimes both individually and, more impressively, together.

'Impressively' was not a word she used outside the workings of her own mind. Other people would probably find that a bit suspicious.

Though, Josh sounded rather impressed, right now.

"Are you... _fanboying_  right now?" Agnes asked him.

"They're like, modern day Bonnie and Clyde, Hannibal and Clarice - shit, I grew up hearing about them! They're one of the reasons I first wanted to be an agent. I wanted to be the one to figure them out."

Yep, he was fanboying.

"Figure them out?" Agnes repeated, keeping the dubious look on her face. "You were eight years old when they died - or," She realized, "are you one of those people who think that it was all a coverup? That they're currently living on some island in the Turks and Caicos?"

"Would you tell me if you knew?" Josh returned pointedly, and she only blinked at him for a moment, surprised that he'd actually at the very least entertained the thought.

"They wouldn't have left me behind." Agnes told him simply, shaking her head. It wasn't hopeful thinking - she _knew_  it for a fact. She may not have known much about their professional lives until later, but she remembered first-hand how they had been as parents.

"Unless they figured it would be safer for you if you stayed in the States. You were just about to enter your teenage years. Maybe they didn't want to punctuate that part of your life as one spent on the run." Josh suggested, and she gave him a wry look.

"I'm going to tell you a story, now, about my earliest years. I wasn't even a year old, yet, and a man who thought himself to be my mother's father decided to kidnap her, and myself."

"I don't remember this," Josh frowned, "and I've read just about everything there is on Reddington and Keen."

His words made her think of the book of the same title - _Reddington and Keen_  - a novel that was scattered with bits of fiction and far too overly romanticized for her tastes. She scowled at the memory of her first read of it. Parts of it had been embarrassing, frankly, and her only comfort was that no one knew _she_  was the mysterious possible child.

"That's because the only documents that hold any information on the subject are highly classified. They still have not been released, as I'm sure there are still plenty of Reddington-related documents tucked away in someone's filing cabinet." Agnes informed him.

"So your parents - the Ressler's, I mean - they told you about this?" Josh wondered, and she nodded.

"They told me a _lot_  of things, once I announced that I would be training to become an agent. Somehow I'd managed to get through life without hearing too much about my real parents, and they knew that would all change very quickly. So they warned me what to expect, and told me a little more detail about the rougher edges. So I wouldn't be caught off guard or anything."

"Did you believe them?"

"I mean, I always knew that my birth parents worked for the FBI, and did very dangerous work, and it eventually got them killed. I just didn't realize that only _one_  of them was an actual agent, and that _both_  of them occasionally 'went off the reservation' so to speak. So, no, I didn't entirely believe Don and Audrey at first," Agnes admitted. "Obviously, the topic of my parents is not difficult to research, so I brought them what I had found, and they helped me weed the truth from the fiction."

"So how much of that class in Quantico was embellished?" Josh smirked a little, and Agnes did too.

"A lot." She sighed, and he laughed.

"How did you pass?!"

"I was very carefully vague about certain things," Agnes joked, and he groaned good-naturedly as he thought back on the course.

"Damn, I really thought I was hot stuff in that class. You thought I was a total asshole, didn't you?"

"Asshole, no - idiot, yeah a little bit." She teased, and he pouted as he slouched down in the chair. "You knew what everyone else knew, though." She shrugged. "I've never held that against you."

"How do you keep quiet about it, though? I mean, people talk about them _all the time_."

"It's hard some days," She admitted, "but it's self-preservation. I mean, at least once you start annoying me I can just kick you out. But if the bosses actually start interviewing me about this stuff? The media finds out about it, discovers that there really was a child, and that child is still alive, and better yet that child is also working in the FBI? Ugh." She shuddered, imagining the zero private life she would have.

"I swear, as long as you want me to, I'll take this to my grave." Josh told her seriously, and she nodded appreciatively at him. She wasn't worried about that, even with his inability to keep many secrets from his own husband - she trusted him implicitly. "Tell me about this baby-napping." He requested, leaning forward in his chair once more, his eyes alight with interest.

Just her luck, that she'd been partnered up and eventually became best friends with probably the biggest Reddington fan in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

_  
_

> _She awoke rather suddenly, blinking her eyes open in the darkness of her room. She lay still in her bed, trying to listen for what had disturbed her slumber. The house was quiet for a long period of time, so she figured perhaps it was the cat, and let her eyes drift closed once more._
> 
> _There was a small thud against the wall near her door, as if someone had stumbled in the hall and caught their hand against the wall. She opened her eyes again, and listened intently._
> 
> _"Easy, easy,"_
> 
> _She relaxed immediately, recognizing the soothing tones of her Mama's voice._
> 
> _"Come on, into the bathroom," She sounded strained, like she was carrying something heavy, and as curiosity won Agnes over, she slipped silently out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room, hesitating at her door. The hall bath was almost just across from her door, so if her mom left that door open, she would be able to see inside._
> 
> _"Damn," Papa muttered under his breath, and she watched with as much seriousness as an eight year old could muster as Mama, with her arms wrapped around Papa's middle, helped him walk into the bathroom._
> 
> _He was clearly hurt, and Agnes was hesitant to reveal herself. Her parents were trying to be quiet and not wake her, and she didn't want to make them feel bad by showing them that they'd failed in that regard. Anyway, she wanted to make sure Papa was okay._
> 
> _Papa settled onto the closed lid of the toilet as Mama dug the first aid kit out from under the sink._
> 
> _"What are we going to tell her this time?" Mama sighed quietly, resigned, as if this were commonplace._
> 
> _Papa grunted something that Agnes couldn't hear as he pulled the knot of his tie loose, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. There was blood on the collar, and blood on his brow, and a noticeable cut on his nose._
> 
> _"I got in a fight with a bad guy," Papa shrugged a little. "It's true."_
> 
> _They were both quiet as Mama gently but efficiently cleaned the blood off of Papa's face. He watched her the entire time, his expression adoring though exhausted. She put some liquid stitches on the cut that had been masked by the smear of blood on his brow, but the one on his nose apparently wasn't so bad._
> 
> _Once she finished and tucked the used equipment into a plastic baggie, she took his face between her hands and held him for a long moment, just looking into his eyes. Agnes furrowed her brow, not understanding why they were just staring at one another without speaking._
> 
> _"Just a tiny concussion. I'll be alright." Papa eventually assured Mama, putting his hands on her waist now. "You should see the other guy," He grinned a bit, and Mama laughed lightly but shook her head side to side._
> 
> _"I hope it doesn't bruise too much," She murmured, now brushing her fingers near the injury on his forehead, careful not to aggravate it. "She doesn't say anything about it, but your daughter worries about you."_
> 
> _"Just like her mother." He replied just as softly, tilting his head into her touch. He pulled her body closer and lifted his chin up, and once they started kissing Agnes carefully tiptoed her way back to her bed, satisfied that her Papa was okay._
> 
> _Mama was right, they didn't talk much about what Papa did, but Agnes understood that sometimes he got hurt at work. Mama, too, though much less often. (That always scared Agnes more, so Mama tried not to do too much dangerous work anymore. Agnes knew that made Papa happier, too.)_
> 
> _Eventually, footsteps neared Agnes' cracked door, and she quickly slowed her breathing, feigning sleep. Even with her eyes closed, she knew that her parents were peeking into the bedroom to check on her. They did that sort of thing often; she didn't always know why, but it seemed to comfort them, so she didn't make a fuss about it._
> 
> _"How's Dembe, though?" She heard Mama whisper._
> 
> _"Fine. Not a scratch on him, of course." Papa scoffed quietly, though his tone was fond. A few quiet moments passed._
> 
> _"Well, come on. If you keep staring at her, she's going to wake up. She's not a baby anymore." Mama was teasing him, though Agnes didn't understand why that was funny._
> 
> _"I like to see my girls after a long day at work," Papa protested good-naturedly, gently pulling the door just so the latch would meet the frame, before it actually clicked closed. Agnes didn't like closed doors._
> 
> _"Well," Mama's voice drifted down the hall, further away now, "if you don't get moving you aren't going to see much of this one before you go to sleep."_
> 
> _"Hmm," Papa's voice followed after her, and soon the hall was dark and quiet again, and Agnes quickly fell back asleep._


	5. Chapter 5

"Daydreaming on the job, Agent Scott?" An amused voice floated across the office from the doorway, and Agnes looked up with a smile, though she was surprised.

"Dad!" She got to her feet immediately as he entered the room, and stepped around her desk to greet him with a hug. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"What am I, a stray dog?" He teased once letting her go. "I know a guy." He shrugged lightheartedly, winking, before glancing around the office. "So this is your office, huh? Geez, I didn't get one like this until I was working as a Special Agent, and even then I had to share it." He glanced at her for a moment, both of them knowing who it was he was had to share it with.

"Come on," Agnes laughed, "this thing is barely bigger than a coat closet."

"Still, you're own space? I'm impressed." Through his joking, she could tell that he meant it, and she preened a bit under his praise. She gestured toward the chair across from her desk and waited for him to sit before stepping back around her desk to sit as well.

"So, what's up?" Agnes wondered, closing the file that had been sitting open in front of her. She'd been working on closing up another old case before she'd gotten carried away by memories.

"I've been thinking about it," Don pulled the ball-cap off his head and ran it between his fingers for a moment. "And there's some things I haven't told you, yet. Things that Audrey doesn't even know about. But I think you deserve to know. And Aggie? This isn't something you'll read in any book at a store."

She understood his warning, there, and stood again.

"Let me close the door,"


	6. Chapter 6

She knocked lightly on the wooden door, shifting back and forth on her feet and turning her collar up against the chill in the air. She didn't have to wait long before the door opened, it's owner looking curious at first and then pleased once he recognized her.

"Agnes!"

"Hi, Harold," Agnes greeted with a smile, and he gestured her inside the warm house immediately, pulling her in for a hug once he'd shut the front door.

"What brings you here? It's good to see you!" He meant it, too; the wide smile on his face and the glint in his eyes making her feel a little bad about having to keep this visit short.

"It's good to see you too, Gramps," She teased lightly, winking at him.

He laughed, even though she knew that later on he would jokingly complain about her making him feel old. He and Charlene really were like grandparents to her, though. She adored them, and she knew that feeling was returned.

"I'd love to stay for a while, but I'm actually on my lunch break right now... I wondered if I could ask you about something?" She asked, getting right to it. His pleased expression dwindled just slightly, but he immediately nodded and gestured her in the direction of the kitchen.

"Sure, sure. Is it a case you're working on?" He asked, then wondered, "Would you like anything to drink, eat?"

"No, thank you." She politely declined. "It's ... sort of a case." She hedged, and he paused in the hall, before they'd made it to the kitchen. Her tone made him curious, and she continued, "It's about my parents. Don told me a story, yesterday, something I had never heard before. About my Dad being pardoned?"

His expression grew fully serious, now, and he gently grasped her elbow, leading her back in the direction that they'd come.

"Let's talk in the study," He said lowly, urgently, glancing about as if he were worried that Charlene would walk around the corner at any moment.

He didn't speak again until he'd shut them inside the room, and settled himself behind his desk. He looked anxious now, and rather exhausted. Like a heavy weight had just been unceremoniously dropped on him, after he'd been sure that he'd been rid of it forever.

And maybe she had just done that.

She bit the inside of her cheek, having not considered how this topic may affect Cooper. She should have thought of that.

"No one knows about that," Harold informed her seriously. "It's classified at the highest level; the old Blacklist team knows, but that's it. No one else has read, or heard, or spoken of anything like this."

Agnes sat down slowly into the chair across from him, understanding the gravity of his words. Even though her parents were dead now, it was still very clearly an extremely guarded secret.

"What did Donald tell you?" Harold requested, steepling his fingers together as he settled into his chair to listen.

Agnes quickly launched into the story, falling into rhythm and picturing it as if she'd been there herself.

\----------

> _"WOW." Aram hadn't shouted, but it was his tone of voice that drew the others' attention. He was looking toward the elevator, where Reddington was stepping out... alone._
> 
> _In uniform._
> 
> _Liz knew that she was gaping a little, but she didn't feel embarrassed about it because a quick glance around confirmed that everyone else was showing various levels of surprise, as well._
> 
> _His dress whites were crisp and spotless, his movements just a little more stiff than usual as he removed his hat and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. He'd always held relatively good posture, but it was as if putting on the uniform had reminded his body of the past, of the time he used to wear these clothes with pride. His chin jutted out over the high collar of the jacket, his eyes hard and detached as he searched about the room. He may have looked like he was born in that uniform, but he clearly wasn't very comfortable at the moment._
> 
> _Liz approached him first, meeting him in the middle of the War Room floor._
> 
> _"You still have your uniform," She wondered gently, knowing very well that with him already on edge as he was, it would be very easy for the two of them to find an excuse to fuss at one another._
> 
> _Curious about all the insignia, she looked him over with more open curiosity. The silver spread eagle pin signifying his Captain status rested above two rows of medals, four across, most of which she didn't recognize immediately. On the opposite side of his chest were four rows of ribbons, three across, the top row having just two._
> 
> _"Yes..." He eventually replied to her, his tone verging on the edge somewhere between resigned and disappointed, and she managed to yank her eyes from the cut of his suit toward his own gaze. He was looking at her, now, that hardened glint betraying something softer behind it, something painful._
> 
> _"Why are you wearing it? I didn't think..." She trailed off, nibbling on her lip as she averted her eyes._
> 
> _"You're right." He said, knowing what she'd been about to say. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his jaw tightening. "The circumstances of my... current status... dictate that I shouldn't be allowed to wear this any longer."_
> 
> _"So why are you?" Ressler piped in, his tone sharp, pointed. A jab that he entirely meant to slice into one of the deepest cracks within the criminal mastermind. It wasn't often one caught Red in such a state of... emotion. It particularly was not often that he showed such cracks to the likes of Ressler._
> 
> _Red's lip twitched, something akin to a snarl for just a second, but only Liz noticed. His expression shut down once again when his eyes focused on something behind her._
> 
> _"Commander Cooper." He greeted wryly, carefully. Liz turned around slowly, seeing their boss approach them. He was also in Navy dress whites, his hat tucked between his arm and his torso._
> 
> _"I thought you were Army." Samar commented, and Cooper quirked an eyebrow in her direction._
> 
> _"Did I ever tell you that I was Army?" He pointed out, and she put her lip out thoughtfully, shrugging when she couldn't recall that he had. Cooper faced Red again, and his voice changed into that same, careful, reverent tone that Red had used, "Captain."_
> 
> _"What the hell is going on?" Ressler wondered, and Red didn't move as Cooper shifted his weight just slightly. It wasn't nervousness though, Liz could tell, it was something else._
> 
> _"You can't tell us." She realized, and the others frowned. Cooper held her gaze for a long moment, and just as something started to flash through his eyes, he focused on Red._
> 
> _"Are you ready?" He asked, and Liz glanced at Red._
> 
> _He was looking at her, his jaw rotating as he struggled with something._
> 
> _"Five minutes." Cooper then told him softly, stepping toward the elevator, focusing on his hat as if it wasn't already in impeccable shape._
> 
> _"What is it?" Liz asked Red lowly, refusing to pay attention to any of the others who were very clearly trying to listen in without actually butting in._
> 
> _"I..." His jaw eventually stopped clenching and releasing, but he didn't say anything else. He breathed in deeply, the medals on his chest catching a glint of light from one of the overheads, and Liz realized that she could recognize at least one of them._
> 
> _"You have a Navy Cross," Liz murmured with surprise, touching the medal reverently. "I didn't know that."_
> 
> _"Not many do. In fact, my commanding officer and the Secretary of the Navy were the only two who knew." Reddington replied, his tone odd, almost detached again. She glanced back up and noticed the pain in his eyes again._
> 
> _"I'm sorry," She murmured, stepping out of his space, "wearing this probably isn't invoking the happiest of memories, huh?"_
> 
> _She glanced toward Ressler when he approached them closer, and he was eyeing Reddington with a weird look, like the sight of him made the agent slightly nauseous. Liz quickly recalled why that may be - Red had been an exemplary officer in the Navy before he'd disappeared. Seeing him dressed as he was now probably served to remind Ressler about all that Red COULD HAVE been. She could imagine how Ressler had been back when he first started his case against Red, with his stiff morality and patriotism. He'd probably taken Red's betrayal to his country rather personally. For what it was worth, Red looked just as nauseous as Ressler did._
> 
> _"There's something going on. An event, a ceremony - right?" Ressler guessed, gesturing toward Red's state of dress. "Those are reserved for important events." Red didn't answer him, and Liz peered into his eyes questioningly. She wondered, too._
> 
> _"I'm afraid that's classified, Donald," Red sighed, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, though his eyes still looked incredibly sad._
> 
> _Liz's inner voice was clamoring, making her feel like she was being pressed in at all sides, something was wrong, something was very wrong._
> 
> _Ressler bristled at Red's tone, but Liz pressed a hand against his chest before he could step closer._
> 
> _"Back off," She said sharply, earning a look of surprise from her partner. "Give us a minute, alright?"_
> 
> _Her worry eked out through her voice, making her sound a little more on edge than she'd wanted. It worked, though - Ressler relaxed marginally beneath her palm and backed away. Aram and Samar also turned their focus intently toward their desks, though Liz and Red were still standing in the middle of the room. They could only give themselves so much privacy._
> 
> _"Red?" She asked quietly, peering deeply into his eyes, trying to read him there. The pain in them frightened her, and she wasn't sure why._
> 
> _"Elizabeth," He sighed, and her brow furrowed. "Lizzie," He breathed again, his free hand reaching for her as he pulled her against him, wrapping both of his arms around her._
> 
> _Hugging like this, in public, was not something they did. She relished the familiarity and warmth of his embrace, but it also only served to put her more on edge. He was holding her like he never would again._
> 
> _The hand holding onto his hat still wrapped around her waist, he placed his other hand against her cheek and pulled back just enough so he could press his mouth against her forehead._
> 
> _He lingered there for a long time, breathing slowly, until eventually, inevitably, he pulled himself back. For just a brief moment she saw the defeated expression on his face, but then he was standing tall and stoic, slipping the hat back on his head, using both hands to make sure it was straight and secure._
> 
> _Before she could say anything else, he turned and walked toward the elevator, entering it alongside Cooper, the two of them facing the interior of the Post Office as the doors closed, but neither of them meeting anyone's gaze._

\----------

As Agnes continued with the rest of the story, she told it almost word for word as Don had, hearing his voice instead of her own.

\----------

"They were gone for hours. We still had paperwork to finish, so even though we were all curious about what was going on, we had things to do. Your mom, though - she was restless, anxious, never focusing on one thing for very long.

"You see, at this point, we still didn't know... didn't know about her and your father, didn't know about your relation to him. But then Director Cooper eventually did come back, immediately calling the four of us into his office. He told us that we had officially completed the List, Reddington's List. Liz was the only one who wasn't surprised - in hindsight I suppose she and Reddington had already discussed it.

"I'd figured this would be a celebratory occasion, but Cooper's somber mood kept us all from expressing our relief. We all knew something was up, but we couldn't understand why it seemed to affect him like it was.

"Then he requested I shut the door, and he started talking. Telling us about something that had begun a long time ago, back when he was still in the Navy. Back when Reddington was still in the Navy.

"They'd never associated together, didn't know one another, but Cooper had been told all of this information a few days before, in preparation for the day of... of your father's pardoning.

"He and Reddington had gone to meet with the President, and the Chief of Naval Operations, as well as any other trusted head of intelligence agency. Reddington had been formally revealed as - hell, as working undercover for Naval Intelligence. For decades, that's what they'd announced, he was working for the United States Navy the entire time.

"Your mom butted in, demanded to know if that was true, or just an excuse to pardon him. Apparently she'd had no idea of any of this, and I can imagine how that must've been, after Red had kept so many other sorts of things from her for so long.

"Cooper never did answer her. He just kept talking in that gentle tone of voice I used to hear him reserve for the families of our victims. He told us that immediately following the 'ceremony', Reddington had been put into Witness Protection.

"As you can imagine, we all just stared at him for a moment, trying to take it all in. I wondered why Reddington couldn't have just used his own people to hide him, since he always used to go on and on about how Witness Protection wasn't always reliable. Cooper told us that, even though it had been an extremely off-the-books meeting, it was still possible that Reddington's enemies would hear word of his 'undercover status'. He was now put in more danger than ever; no longer from the American government, but from the criminal world he'd immersed himself in.

"We weren't to speak of him again. We continued our work in the Counterterrorism Division as a team, but the Blacklist and anything to do with Raymond Reddington was sealed up as if it'd never existed in the first place.

"Oh, that medal you have? Right. That was when we sort of found out, I think, that at the very least your parents cared very much about one another. Cooper gave it to your mom during our meeting in his office the day of the pardoning. He seemed to be just as curious about it as he told her that Reddington wanted her to have it. We all watched the way she looked at it, the way she held it in her hands. I remember distinctly the look on Samar's face - she had suspected something between your parents a long time before any of us seriously did.

"Anyway, Liz was... well, she was pretty messed up about it for a few days. She tired to hide it from us, because at this point we still didn't know that they'd been _together_ , actively pursuing a relationship. And then, suddenly, she was her old self. And I mean her old self - back when we first met Reddington, that fiery determination of a young agent who wanted to prove herself. It still took me a couple of weeks before I realized that her passion had been directed toward finding your father.

"The three of us - Aram, Samar, myself - we figured it out and we each tried to reason with her. We were all so stupid - we thought it was that same untethered feeling young agents often felt after finishing their first big case. I told myself that with Liz, it was so much  _more_  because he'd been around for years. He'd taken over her life as soon as she became an agent, and her life had been surrounded by him for years as she grew more into herself and more into the type of agent she would become. It was all connected to him, in some way, and now it suddenly wasn't. I thought I understood that, but really, I had no fucking clue.

"We never did tell Cooper. It's not like we got together and discussed about hiding it from him, but, the mutual agreement just sort of happened. We didn't _help_  her, per se, not directly anyway. Aram must have, at least a few times, but he never admitted it to us. Liz was quite resourceful on her own, after all - and eventually, I found out that she'd been working with Reddington's people.

"She never told them about the possible truth behind him being an undercover officer - she just told them that he'd been pardoned because of his help with the Blacklist, and put in Witness Protection because of the significant danger he'd now been put under. They believed her, and worked with her, immediately. I guess I should have found that suspicious, but I didn't at the time. I was too worried, because by the time I figured out who she'd been working with, she had disappeared.

"Not entirely, of course. When her searching would take her away from the city for a few days, she would often have Audrey and I look after you. We didn't mind at all, especially understanding that she was worried for your safety while she was treading into the Concierge of Crime's territory without the man himself around to have her back. She would check in with us often, see how you were doing, FaceTime with you a few times. She was always very careful not to give away her current location, and I ... against my desires, I never did trace her calls.

"Outwardly, it seemed she was deteriorating, so when she eventually asked for a month's leave, Cooper was more than ready to give it to her. She asked Audrey and I if we could look after you during this time, and I knew immediately that she wasn't going to rest - she had found your father, or at least, she had thought she had.

"I remember the day I saw her before she disappeared. I'd asked her why she cared so much, especially when this manhunt could cause a lot of problems for him. She looked at you, as she held you - you were a toddler by this point, just starting to walk - and she told me, 'I would rather die with him, than live without him'. You were watching her very seriously - you have such a look on your face sometimes, it's just like your father really, I should have seen it - and you pressed both of your little hands against her cheeks. It was the weirdest thing I've ever seen - the two of you just looked at one another for a long time. It was like you were telling her that it was okay. That you understood - and there was no way you could have, you were too young, but... it was startling.

"And she left, and we never heard from her once during that entire month. And while there were a few times that you cried for her, missing her, it didn't happen as often as I expected. It was like you knew that she would be back, that you would be with her again.

"Liz did come back, exactly one month later, to fetch you. She arrived in the middle of the night; I was up working on a case, and Audrey had already gone to bed. You were sound asleep, of course. You didn't even wake up when she'd tucked you in a carrier and moved you and some of your things to the car. Anyway, when I answered the door and saw her standing there that night, I think I knew immediately what her decision was. She had this look on her face, this expression of hardened acceptance, that I'd first seen back when she and Reddington had been on the run together. We shared a drink, and she took you with her, and she left her badge and gun on my coffee table.

"I told Cooper that she'd come for you in the middle of the night, that I hadn't had a clue until I woke up that morning and you were gone. He asked me if I suspected that she'd spent her time searching for Reddington, and I nodded. I remember the way he sighed very distinctly. It was as if he'd expected this to happen.

"The next time I saw you, you were ten years old, standing on my front stoop with your book bag on your shoulder, and Dembe's hand in yours. I didn't have to examine his face very closely to know what must have happened - during those seven or eight years you were gone, I'd kept an ear out for ... certain kinds of criminal activity. I knew that Reddington was back in business, if even more in the shadows than before.

"We would receive anonymous tips every now and then, and Cooper _had_  to have known that it was your mother, or Reddington, or the both of them, but he never forced the issue. Never asked us to look into it. It was like he had a sort of respect for them, and even if their methods were unconventional and sometimes straight up illegal, they were still helping us catch bad guys.

"Dembe told me that he'd stayed behind, to spend some time with you, because you two adored one another so much. One of Reddington's other men went with him, and Liz, as they were headed across the country on some sort of tip regarding a human trafficking ring. Their plane went down.

"I couldn't believe it, not at first. It was like some weird disappearing Dan Cooper tale - and the wreckage completely unsalvageable, body count confirmed but none of them identifiable? It was the perfect way for the two of them to disappear, though I had a hard time imagining they would have left you behind, even if their primary regard had been your safety. They loved you so much.

"Anyway, Agnes... there may come a time - it shouldn't ever happen, but just in case it does - someone may ask you about your father's pardon. About his undercover work for the Navy. You _must_  deny this. Don't offer any evidence, but, reaffirm his status as Number Four for a reason. He needs to live on as the Concierge of Crime, not as an undercover Navy Captain. It may be dangerous for you to be the daughter of the Number Fours, but it would be far worse for you to be the daughter of the greatest underhanded criminal sting in history. Do you understand? Because people may start asking you questions, and soon...."

\----------

Agnes trailed off here, just as Donald had done, and peered at Harold closely. The man looked... sad, but understanding. Some of this information must've been new to him, even this many years later.

"Your father was right - Donald was right," Harold quickly corrected himself, but Agnes shrugged. Don was just as much a father to her as Reddington had been. "There are still plenty of people out there that have been slighted because of the work Elizabeth and Reddington had done - while they had been careful to cover their tracks, if his status in the Navy is outed then his enemies would quite quickly connect the dots I'm sure."

"So if - when," Agnes grimaced, "people find out that I'm a Reddington, I can't reveal that he was actually working for his country?"

"No." Harold looked at her sideways. "And we don't even know... if that was true. That in of itself could have been a coverup. After all, it didn't take him very long before he was continuing his 'Concierge service'. If anyone ever brings up the possibility of him working undercover, you need to firmly shut that down."

Harold smiled a little, but there wasn't humor in the gesture.

"Reddington is still a big name. You are more protected than you realize, Agnes,"

She nodded in agreement, and Harold raised an eyebrow.

"Donald told me something else. About why people might start finding out about my bloodline."

"What is it?" Harold furrowed his brow.

"There was a will, Gramps. Donald only discovered it recently, after... after Dembe gave it to him. Dad... he left me everything."

She shook her head a little, still astounded by it, and Harold could only blink at her for a moment.

"You're still in contact with Dembe?" Harold wondered curiously, softly, his tiny smile genuine now.

"We've always been close," Agnes shrugged, giving him an apologetic smile. "I've always known that people couldn't know about Uncle Dembe. Before I went to Quantico, I just figured it was because he was CIA or something."

Harold nodded, though his mind was already obviously elsewhere.

"You... what do you mean, 'he left you everything'?" Harold asked, his tone betraying that he feared exactly what that statement sounded like.

He was retired, by now, and as Don had informed her, everything 'Reddington' had been locked away tight. And besides, now that he's watched Agnes grow up, he had zero inclination to drag her through the hell that would happen if he were to bring anything new to the FBI.

Adding to all that, she simply trusted him.

"His...." She breathed out a nervous laugh, "empire." She gestured her hands outward, the movement - unknown to her - incredibly similar of the man she was speaking of.

"How is it still functioning?" Harold wondered breathlessly. "I figured it had dissolved and his people with it."

Agnes shook her head, just as in awe as he was.

"Apparently he garnered a lot of respect from his people. They each took over certain aspects of things, continued on as he would have wanted them to - at least to the best of their ability, I suppose. And they answered to - " She cut herself off, not sure if she actually wanted to tell Harold this part.

"Dembe." Harold guessed immediately nodding as if that made complete sense. "And I suppose now that Dembe is getting older, he's revealed this will to you? He's passing it on to the rightful heir?"

"Jesus, you make this sound like the crown. Do you realize what this means?" Agnes pushed her hands through her hair. "I work in the FBI! I can't be a criminal mastermind!"

Harold laughed, startling her, and she stared at him incredulously.

"Your mother was." He pointed out.


	7. Chapter 7

"What is all this?" Agnes wondered in amazement, looking around the large storage facility as Dembe pulled the rolling door closed behind them, flicking on the lights once the sunlight was cut off.

Boxes were piled in high stacks, next to more filing cabinets than she could count at first glance, and there were crates and heavy duty chests and piles of mysterious things covered in blankets, and even a car.

Dembe patted the trunk of the car fondly, and she noticed that it was in pristine condition.

"He always preferred his Lincoln's." Dembe told her, and she approached the car slowly, her hand hesitant as she reached out to touch her fingers to the metal. _MKS_ , she read on the back, raising her eyebrow appreciatively. The line had seen improvements since this model, obviously, but this would have been top of the line when he'd first bought it.

Well, she was assuming that he bought it.

"It's yours, too, if you - "

"I can't drive this!" Agnes exclaimed, interrupting him. "I don't have nearly the kind of salary to afford this as an FBI agent. Isn't the point that I _hide_  in plain sight?"

"True." Dembe mused, though he looked mildly disappointed as he turned away from the vehicle.

Apparently her dad hadn't been the only one to prefer Lincoln's. She grinned, patting his shoulder consolingly.

"Maybe we can sneak it out every now and then, go for a drive out of the city," She told him, and he smiled at her, nodding. "It's obvious you've been doing so, anyway," She raised her eyebrow, and he looked indignant.

"I couldn't just let it rust in the garage!"

"I know," She let him off the hook, not wanting to tease him for long. There was way too much stuff in here for her to just focus on the car. "And this isn't the only unit?"

"No, he has many. All over." Dembe gestured vaguely in the air, and Agnes swallowed as she let that settle in. _All over the world_ , Dembe was implying.

Even still, even after they had been dead for nearing seventeen years now.

"Those filing cabinets there contain copies of his financial information," Dembe gestured his head toward the metal cabinets nearest them. " _Your_  financial information."

Warily, Agnes opened one of the drawers, tugging out a spiral notebook that was dated five years ago. Inside, as expected, the handwriting was all Dembe's. Focusing on the numbers themselves, Agnes choked.

"Holy fuck!" She exclaimed, and Dembe simply stood there, raising his eyebrow at her calmly.

"The lower drawers are more up to date. There's bound to be more money in there than what you're looking at." He pointed out, and it took her two tries to swallow.

"I can't accept blood money," She closed the notebook and set it on top of the open drawer, clenching her fingers when she realized they were shaking a little. She'd never seen that many numbers strewn together before in her life.

Dembe made a face as if she were being ridiculous.

"That's not blood money," He assured her, "every cent of that is investment. He started that particular account as soon as he discovered that your mother was pregnant."

Agnes let that information sink in.

"But he... he didn't even know that I was his, at first. Didn't he?"

"That is correct." Dembe nodded, and smiled softly at her. "That never mattered. He loved you immediately."

"Did Mom know about this?" Agnes asked, trying to get a hold on the emotions swirling in her chest.

She liked to think she had a pretty good idea about the kind of man her father had been. No, she wasn't as good a profiler as her mom was, but she'd had lots of interviews, research, books, and news articles to pore through over the years. Especially, in particular, the stories that Don would tell her. He always held this sort of annoyance about Reddington, and he didn't always soften his opinion of the man for Agnes' benefit.

So she knew that her dad wasn't always, well, _nice_. It wasn't luck that had made him the Concierge of Crime - he was _good_  at it. However, it has always been made apparent that Liz was someone special, from their very first meeting.

The fact that he thought the same of Agnes, even as their first 'meeting' was while she was still a collection of cells growing within her mother's womb, cells that he didn't even know were partially his - well, that really was something.

"I'm not certain," Dembe answered her question honestly. "Though I'm sure it would have been years later, in any case, if he did ever tell her."

"What do I... _do_  with this?" Agnes wondered quietly, her fingers touching the notebook again, with the same reverence she'd given the car.

"You live." Dembe shrugged. He looked at her for a long moment, before moving toward a particular cardboard box that was sitting by itself next to a taller stack. It wasn't labeled, but he must've searched for it at a previous time and set it aside. "You might be particularly interested in this,"

He opened the flaps and turned the box toward her, and she stepped closer to see that it was filled with odds and ends, including plastic baggies of photos, and discs in clear cases with dates scrawled atop them.

She picked one of the CD cases up, touching the unfamiliar marker print.

"Raymond's," Dembe informed her of the handwriting. "They are DVD's. These are the only copies." He gave her a sharp look. "These are meant for your eyes only."

"I understand," She immediately wondered, holding the DVD tighter. The date on it was sometime during her fifth year. "Are these...?" She had a good idea of what they were, but she wanted the confirmation. Dembe nodded, his comforting smile widening further.

"Your mother insisted, just in case... she wanted you to have memories of them should something happen to them early in your life."

"Because of what happened to her when she was little," Agnes understood, nodding, and Dembe nodded once in agreement. "Thank you, Dembe," She whispered, not-quite hurling herself at him and wrapping her arms around him tightly.

Fond as they were of one another, he hadn't been obligated to tell her about the will, or about these storage containers. She was an FBI agent, after all. He was entrusting something incredibly important with her here, something more than just her family history.

Even if there were other people actually managing and running things, she still wasn't sure what to do with the idea that she was now in charge of an entire webwork of criminal activity. If she were so inclined, she could easily step into the role that her father had started.

She could also inform the FBI, and send it all crumbling down.

But from what Dembe has told her, that move would more than likely crush entire infrastructures. There were certain small countries that were only thriving because of Reddington's attachment to them, and Agnes could barely wrap her mind around just that by itself, not to mention everything else. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people that would be ruined - some even killed - if she outed everything.

Reddington had managed to make himself an integral cog in the running of the world, even after death.

A part of her could understand exactly why Reddington went back to being the Concierge of Crime, even after tasting the 'freedom' of a new life. There were lives held in his hands, and now they were in Agnes'.

"Here," Dembe interrupted her thoughts, passing a key to her. "You can come here whenever you'd like. I wouldn't make a habit of it, of course - we wouldn't want anyone finding this place." He grinned for a moment, then added, "The safety deposit box mentioned in the will has another key, and that location will have another key. So on so forth."

She nodded, understanding, meandering around the room a little more easily now that she was starting to grasp these new aspects of her life.

"Why is there a random couch in here?" She wondered, pulling back the sheet that protected it, and plopping down into it. It was surprisingly comfortable.

"Do you really want to know?" Dembe asked, and she narrowed her eyes at the smirk on his face. She gestured as if to say 'well?' and he continued nonchalantly, "According to Raymond, you were conceived on that couch."

She leapt off of it immediately.

"Aw, come on!" She scowled at his laugh. "Don't be gross."

"That's what he told me." Dembe insisted, eyebrows lifting high with innocence.

"Ugh, I don't want to think about my parents having sex." She groaned, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment. It had been bad enough reading that stupid book years ago.

"Well, you apparently used to walk in on them all the time, so I don't see why you're bothered by it now." Dembe replied offhandedly, laughing when she glared at him. "You look just like Elizabeth when you do that." He told her fondly, and she resisted the urge to grit her teeth.

"Well, at least I don't remember _that_ ," She muttered, annoyed that he was able to pick on her so successfully today.

"Hm, maybe I should check through those DVD's, make sure they're all PG..." Dembe mused, and she gaped at him. Then she realized he was being serious, and she grabbed the nearest object she could find and chucked it at him.

He ducked, swatting it out of the air with his hands, and came up chuckling.

"Throwing pens, too. They would be so proud."


	8. Chapter 8

"It's weird, Reddington's connections." Josh mused around the pen in his mouth, as he and Agnes were bent over a scattering of photos on Ruka's desk. Ruka was their resident counterterrorism badass, more than likely very capable of kicking all of their asses six ways to Sunday without even breaking a sweat. She was the lead on their most recent case, and currently in a meeting with their boss.

"It's weird that he had connections?" Agnes returned dryly, half distracted as she rearranged some of the photos they were looking at.

"No." Josh clarified, but waited a beat before continuing, "it's weird that they're still so active."

Agnes let another beat pass before she replied, not wanting to appear too hasty or interested.

"Are they?"

"Well, this tip we got about the money laundering business? We may have an identity of the caller, but... the tip itself, the way we got it, the way it was delivered - it fits Reddington's M.O." She looked up at him, and sighed heavily.

"You aren't about to come after me with a new theory on how they're still alive, are you?" She asked tiredly, and he shook his head.

"No, I believe you there, I believe they're dead." He met her gaze, his more than just glinting with excited theories - he was serious. "I think someone's taken over the business."

"I don't understand," She tried to keep her tone uninterested, "it's common knowledge that his accounts and businesses dissolved into numerous hands once he died. _Lots_  of people took over, if you want to get technical."

"No," He shook his head, "I don't think that happened at all. I think they've been keeping it up exactly how he wanted, waiting for someone new to come along and replace him. Someone worthy."

"Worthy?" Agnes repeated, laughing. "Why does this now sound like some weird cult?"

"I'm serious."

"I can tell," She tried to keep the smile off of her face, and she indulged him for a moment. "Alright, so do you have an idea of who could be worthy enough for that?"

"Well, it would be Shakespearean if it were you," Josh started, and she rolled her eyes.

"Josh," She scolded.

"But I'm thinking it's his right-hand man."

"The one that died in the plane crash?" She reminded him slowly, raising her eyebrow, and he shook his head.

"I think there was another one. I think that Reddington and Keen each had their own main guy, bodyguard, confidante, whatever. I think one of them was on that plane with them, and I think the other was not."

"What inspired all of this?" Agnes wondered, worrying for Dembe. The world (the general public, non-criminal world) knew him to be dead.

"Mostly my imagination," Josh admitted, "which is why I haven't made anything official of this. But it makes sense, doesn't it? There's no way that they had absolutely _no one_ else that they trusted. There had to be others within their inner circle."

"You don't think that would have been discovered back when their FBI team had been interviewed?" Agnes asked, and he leaned in close to say even quieter,

"That's the point though, isn't it? None of those guys seem to exist. Their names are highly classified, and all of them were freed from any guilt. Any one of those _agents_ could actually be running the big show, now!"

"If they weren't charged with anything," Agnes began.

"But what if the FBI _wants_ the big show to keep on running?" Josh pointed out. "You gotta admit, there are benefits to it."

"Yeah," Agnes frowned, "and there are also a lot of disadvantages."

"Sure, but,"

"Guys," Ruka interrupted, quickly nearing them, "We've been cleared to raid the tailor's. You both comin?" She grabbed the keys to her SUV, and the two partners immediately nodded without hesitation, dropping their current topic.

\----------

"We need to change it up."

"Are you sure? This has worked for... decades, really."

"I'm sure. It's mild, but there's some suspicion going down the pipe that the business is far more organized than we're trying to let appear. We need to freshen things up a little."

"Sure thing, boss. I'll talk with the crew, come up with an idea. Ring it by you in, say, two hours?"

"Good."

Dembe smiled as she flipped the phone closed and tucked it into her pocket.

"You're good at this. They respect you already." He praised, and she pursed her lips.

"Only because of my name. Once they meet me in person - "

"They don't have to, necessarily. There's power in a name, in a voice over the phone. You can use this to your advantage. Keep it up long enough, and by the time they _do_  meet you in person, they will have no choice but to continue to follow your lead."

"I'll have proved by then to be capable," She followed along his logic, and he nodded.

"Exactly," He replied. "Mr. Reddington."

She tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes curiously at the title. She nodded slowly, and gave him an even slower half-smile.


	9. Chapter 9

She managed to go years before someone called her into question. She had developed the business into a sort of protection, a guard, against groups like the Cabal from rising up ever again.

That meant, occasionally, illegal activity - but she full well understood what she was allowing. Government officials with that sort of power were far more dangerous than what her people were doing.

She received word that someone claimed to have documents in hand that revealed the true identity of her father. The particular crew that managed to capture him she had not worked with directly before, but this was important enough that she insisted being there in person.

Dembe, before 'officially' retiring, had hired and trained up a younger man named Clarke, to follow Agnes whenever she wasn't working for 'The Man'. To be her right-hand, like Dembe himself had been for her father.

So Clarke was the one who set up this meeting, and as she followed him into the underbelly of rusting ship they were currently borrowing, the crew naturally assumed that _he_  was the one in charge.

She was more than fine with that; it allowed her more time to observe relatively unnoticed, when they assumed that she was the bodyguard. She and Clarke used this tactic often, and she found it exhilarating.

They informed Clarke of the man they had currently chained up down below, far enough away from any entrances that passersby would not hear him scream. They explained how they had found proof that he was indeed in possession of a few highly classified documents, and how they had captured him.

"Where are the documents now?" Agnes asked, and the apparent leader of the crew - his name was Viktor, she had to remember that, because he was impressively competent and straightforward.

Viktor narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, glancing toward Clarke. Clarke simply blinked at him.

"We've locked them away in a safe on board. Waiting for you to arrive,"

"Thank you." Agnes said appreciatively, taking control of the conversation now, which caused his face to pinch even further in confusion, and he stopped walking. "Lead me to him." She gestured ahead.

"Who are you?" He asked, glancing questioningly at Clarke again.

"Oh, I'm sorry. We haven't yet formally met." Agnes grinned at him, and held out her hand. "I'm Reddington."

Viktor stared at her hand.

"You're a woman." He stated.

"Since the day I was born," She agreed, still patiently holding her hand out. Viktor slowly reached up to shake it, his grip firming as he grinned and released a breathy sort of laugh.

"That's clever," He appreciated, shaking his head in amusement, and she allowed her smile to widen for a moment.

"We think so. Now, if you would?" She gestured back down the passageway again once he'd released her hand, and he nodded, leading the way once more.

Her expression hardened as they neared the bulkhead door that she knew housed a singular type of asshole behind it, and Clarke passed a pistol into her hand, neither of them looking for the gesture.

Agnes very rarely participated in these sorts of things herself - her duties as an FBI agent always came first, for her - but when someone threatened the memory of her parents, she would take care of it, just as she had promised she would.

They reached the door and Viktor rolled the latch, pulling it open with a loud screech of it's hinges. She stepped into the room, observed the man kneeling in the middle of the floor, his hands stretched out to either side, each connected to the wall by a long heavy chain. His head was bowed, and he appeared older than her judging by his greying and receding hairline. She knew that he'd put up a fight with Viktor's crew, though, so he was well-trained and still physically fit.

"Reddington, you son of a bitch, I don't know how you - " He'd started talking once she entered the room, but cut himself off as soon as he lifted his head and laid his eyes on her. "You're not Reddington."

She pursed her lips, holding her hands together - and her gun - in front of her waist, tilting her head at him as if she found him curious.

"Hello, Jacob." She smiled at him, and his face blanched.

"Who are you?" He asked quickly, but a part of him suspected, she could see it clearly in his face. "I heard them talking to a Mr. Reddington. I know he's alive. Where is he?" He demanded quickly, frantic; her presence entirely unexpected and making him panic.

"I expect, unfortunately, that you're speaking of my father," She began, casually inspecting the safety switch on her pistol. "He's dead." She settled her hands back in front of her, and shrugged. "You've got me. I'm the next best thing!"

"You're - " He swallowed, and blinked quickly, the heavy and musty heat in the room had been making him sweat since they first brought him in here, and he had to blink heavy drops away from his eyes. "So he did have a kid?"

She laughed, and he grimaced. That was her intent, of course - she'd watched those home videos so many times she knew each millisecond by heart. She also knew exactly how to imitate her father's laugh - hers wasn't so different from it, to begin with.

"That's right!" She mused, as if she were only just remembering. "You disappeared out to sea long before I came around, didn't you? I hear you tried to propose to my mother. I guess that didn't work out for you."

Agnes knew very well it hadn't - her mom had met him near his boat, and he'd tried to woo and persuade her to run away out to sea with him. Realizing his intent soon enough, she'd left him there on that dock, didn't even set foot on his boat once. Upon hearing this story, Agnes had already known enough about 'Tom' to feel very proud of her mother for this.

"So you are Liz's." He figured, and she frowned at him.

"I couldn't be anyone else's. They were more than happy together."

His lip twitched, but he didn't say anything to that.

"So how did you get this file?" Agnes asked him, and he snorted.

"I'm not telling you that," He said as if that were obvious.

"Alright," She shrugged, nonplussed, and he jerked his gaze back up toward her. "I don't need you, to figure it out. I am an FBI agent, after all." She turned on her heel and stepped toward the door, catching his repeated expression of surprised .

"Wait!" He called out, and she glanced over her shoulder toward him. "What... what did they do to you?" He wondered, seeming appalled. She turned fully back to face him, raising her eyebrow dubiously.

"They loved me, Tom. And I loved them." She thumbed the hammer of her gun. "I'll do anything I have to to protect them."

"I thought they were dead," He pointed out quickly, his tone having lost much of its vitriol with her words.

"Their memory," She clarified, "lives on. And it must be... perceived correctly."

"And you'd rather that be as criminals?" He wondered incredulously.

"You know full well," She narrowed her eyes at him, "that revealing this Navy thing will bring everything down. _That_  was your intention, was it not?"

"Why do you care? You just said you were an FBI agent. You want criminals put away, you're like Liz." He was desperate to form some sort of connection, to keep on breathing for as long as possible.

Agnes clicked her tongue against her teeth, shaking her head slowly at him, as if he disappointed her.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm also like my father."


	10. Chapter 10

> _Warning: while following scenes are a recreation of events, some images may be disturbing / inappropriate for young viewers. Rated for strong violence and profanity. Produced with limited commercial breaks._
> 
> _"On tonight's episode, the first part of a special three-episode event, we begin to explore the life of Agnes Reddington and, in association, that of her parents. Raymond Reddington and Elizabeth Keen._
> 
> _These three are common household names. By now we have all heard about the FBI agent and the criminal mastermind, their 'Blacklist', and their subsequent life together as modern-era crime lords. We've heard about the even more wildly unbelievable story of their daughter, who grew up in her mother's footsteps, only to eventually follow in her father's footsteps, and who ended up rather single-handedly bringing down some of the biggest corruption rings in the United States and around the world._
> 
> _But now, in this special three-part event, we hear the whole story, told by the people who lived it. We even get a peek into the mysterious presence of the infamous Navy Cross - perhaps it wasn't a stolen keepsake, after all?_
> 
> _After years of study, collection of video, books, interviews, and other records - we have established:_
> 
> _The Reddington's: America's Greatest Crime Family, or America's Greatest Patriots?"_
> 
>  

* * *

 


End file.
